Saturday, August 15, 2009

Pattern Recognition... (pr)










It's not often that my morning jigsaw puzzle ritual generates much in the way of thoughts that are linked together... usually I use the puzzle to _start_ the wheel of the grist mill. This morning however, the P&G ad for 'Venus' Razors (which I've already seen several times) got me 'started', and the puzzle became the counterpoint...




As a boy - years before the age my parents would slip away on Christmas eve for a visit with neighbours, leaving me to wrap incidental gifts for my younger siblings - my sister and I would help my mother do jigsaw puzzles.

From emptying the box on the table top, to deciding who will position the last piece, the conversation moved back and forth - warm, comfortable, punctuated with with smiles and laughter.

I still, enjoy the sound of that type of conversation, and the memories are somewhat stronger this morning as I prepare to drive to Bear River to visit my mother who is just a few days away from her 79th birthday - like her, I was born in a year ending in '0'.



Although success in many human endeavours (probably any life form) is linked to pattern recognition, I don't think we devote enough effort to developing pattern recognition skills in children (or ourselves).

As a teenager wandering the halls of high school, simply asking myself the question "what is the pattern here" would probably have saved me a lot of angst ... ;-)

Teaching MJ how to drive, it's not a question of what the other driver will do (mind reading) it's a question of what might they do that would affect her driving decisions (pr, more confidence).




In art, pattern recognition becomes inspiration, association, interpretation, exploration, and intimacy - the piece alters - the pattern, evolves, repeats.....




Returning to the Procter and Gamble Internet ad, my impression is they're prepared to take the risk.


Sunday, August 9, 2009

Two Poems with a camera...














Depth of Field


The boy leans his right elbow on the handlebars
and looks at the viewer
of the digital camera in her hand.
He looks at her face and says something
that is lost in the distance.
She raises her eyes and looks at him
with what appears to be a question.

They are lying under light covers
in the morning, spoons.
His right palm lightly supports her breast,
the fingers of his left hand trace her belly,
tug at her innie.
Her breathing deepens slightly.
“She has great trust in me in this he thinks.”

The boy pushes off with his left foot
and pedals away
she watches his shoulders, dipping
with that familiar, steady tempo
- the way they move in the kayak
reach, pull, reach, pull.


He carves a strong measured turn,
the look of an skier
confident, he's in no hurry
feeling the point on the edge that takes
the first bite.


He slides up just a little
and lightly kisses her shoulder,
and then her neck
slightly below the hairline.
Her head turns - toward him
exposing her ear.
His tongue traces a line
from the last kiss to the well
under her earlobe,
his lips tug,
his breath a soft memory
as he releases her.

He stops to make sure she’s ready.
Waiting for a signal.
This time the camera is on a tripod,
she is kneeling behind it,
looking for the right angle.

She looks around the camera and nods.
He pushes off again.

This time the rhythm of his legs
is not steady,
his shoulders dip, pulling his chest
his abdomen.
The next stroke comes a little quicker,
not quite as dependent on his weight,
a little more drive from his thighs.

His palms slide down her torso,
patient, confident
- that firm pressure she recognizes as
his favourite hug.

If she were wearing jeans,
his hands would be in her deep front pockets.
He half pulls, half lifts her - up
back, half on top,
his tongue tracing the underside of her jaw.

The front wheel
rolls off the pavement,
into the gravel.
He picks a spot mid way
between himself and her.
The camera is incidental.


© David L. Potter




Muriel (at ninety-six years)


Together, with a thousand other women
nominated for the Nobel prize.

How many times have you
hand lettered signs, and when it rained...
you marched anyway. Holding
your message up for the camera.

This is important...

I am looking through this lens into your heart.
Look back at me,
into my heart
...it’s important.

Welcome the rain, let it remind us ALL
of the cold hard facts...
That it is the abuse of power - financial, physical
psychological, sexual - which disturbs our peace.

That World peace starts with each of us
saying no to the abusement of each and every person,
the environment,
the systems that should support, comfort
and protect us all.


© David L. Potter